A World Remade
by Storm's Only Rider
Summary: Years after the end of the greatest mystical war that Europe and the world have ever faced, four survivors band together in a last desperate attempt to save what was lost, and restore their broken world anew. Potential slash in later chapters.


**June 2079, somewhere in the Ural Mountains**

"How did it come to this?"

"A wise question Minerva, but one you know I don't have the answer to."

The dim and dying light from a stone fireplace revealed two figures in the room. One of them a woman seeming to be in her fifth or sixth decade, and the other seemingly just barely into his second.

"The War…we've won, to all intents and purposes, my friend. We just happened to lose too many battles along the way. After Hogwarts fell…after the Ministries…after Beaxbatons and Durmstrang…it was bound to come to this. Losing the schools…it was just too much. Too much hope lost, and too little light left. Things were certain to go downhill after that." The young man sighed as he looked out the window, at the storm ravaged landscape outside. "And they most certainly did that," he sighed.

"You spoke of a way…to turn things back, undo what has been done?" asked the former professor of Hogwarts School.

As they spoke, another man and woman approached up the stairs of the tower.

The door opened, revealing a man and woman to all appearances around thirty years of age. Both the raven-haired man, and brunette woman walked with an easy grace that spoke of their skill without words.

"Hello, Harry, Hermione. I'm glad you could make it. In fact, we were just talking about you."

"Tobias, Minerva," they both answered, nodding their heads to the man that stood before them, and to the woman sitting beside the fire.

After the two had joined their former professor by the fireplace, Tobias spoke again: "As Minerva just asked, I recently was struck by an idea. It is a risky, problematic, and quite dangerous idea, but an idea regardless. We four in this room are to my knowledge the last remaining major powers left in Europe, if not the world itself. The past eighty-five years, as well you know, have claimed a higher percentage of the European population than the Black Plague ever did."

The faces of all in the room darkened as memory washed over them in waves. So many lost…so much sacrificed…

"As things stand, despite what I or any other have said, we did not win the War. In truth, no one did. We did, however, manage to destroy most of what we were fighting over in the process." Seeing the look on the face of the brunette, as if she was about to interrupt, he spoke quickly: "Not intentionally, Hermione, I know that as well as you do. The fact remains however that the battles of the past eighty-odd years have decimated the population of Europe, and the damage is spreading."

"We know all of this T', why call us here just to rehash the facts?" Harry asked, running a hand through his raven hair.

The man that appeared the youngest in the room hesitated, as if what he was thinking was too much...even for those here. "I believe that I have found a way to turn back the clock. A way to allow us a chance to alter the course of events that led up to the present day."

All three took a moment to consider what had been said. All of them had seen the damage that could be done by accidents when meddling with time. Time-turners had seen a brief but intense usage in the War, with disastrous consequences. The loss of life that had resulted had prompted one of the few temporary lulls in the early days of the conflict.

_Padma and Parvati Patil, grown and powerful women in their own right, surviving an ambush by a group of Death Eater by cunning use of a Time-Turner…only to be struck down by their own future selves in the aftermath. A mistake, that cost them both their lives…_

_Argus Filch, in one of his few shining moments, tricked into the use of a Time-Turner by the enemy, after defending a group of first-year students…and seeing what appeared to his own double appear out of thin air, striking the double down… only to realize that it was himself…_

And others. Too many others had been lost on both sides, till the Turners had been destroyed, and an unspoken agreement had arisen that neither force would be meddling with time again. It had been the first of the Great Accords, and one of the most important: _Thou shall not interfere in the flow and passage of Time, be it for any reason, or under any circumstance_

Yet here Tobias was, to all appearances proposing just that.. And this wouldn't be the use of a Time-Turner, going back hours, or even days, to alter events in little ways. Whatever "idea" had struck the man was a way to turn back time eighty years and more, if his words were any indication. The potential disasters were many, almost incalculable. Yet all present realized the same truth: there was nothing left to lose.

Taking the looks on their faces as a sign of agreement, at least for the time being, Tobias continued, "As you can guess, we wouldn't be making use of a Time-Turner, or anything of the sort. No Turner made could sustain a travel as far back as we need to go, not to mention that the consequences of having physical doubles of ourselves back in time are too numerous to count."

Hermione broke from her inner thinking to ask, "So we wouldn't be going back physically then? This is some other way of altering events?"

A smile broke onto Tobias's face. "Brightest witch of your age indeed, Ms. Granger."

A brief laugh went through all of them, remembering brighter days, when such simple statements could mean so much, and you could still afford to take the little things for granted, not knowing how precious they really were.

"But yes, you are quite correct. A physical transference would be virtually impossible, in terms of the power requirements alone, much less any other variables involved. No, if we go through with this, it would be a transfer of consciousness, of mentality and spirit. Basically, our minds and souls would be going back, and joining with our younger selves. It wouldn't be possession, or anything of the sort. As we would be going to our own selves in the past, it would be a unification of two—_versions_, I suppose you could say—of the consciousness of the same being.

The other three shared a glance between them, with smiles still on their faces. Trust Tobias to come up with something like this. But could it work? Being able to change the way things turned out…what a blessing that would be.

"I've pretty much worked my through all the necessary Arithmantic calculations, and all the more esoteric spellwork needed. I wanted to make sure that this was actually possible before presenting the idea and getting hopes up. A few decisions will have to be made before the final preparations though."

It was McGonagall that spoke next, ever the voice of gentle strength, "And what decisions would those be, old friend?"

And before he could reply, Hermione piped up with: "How far back would we be going, Tobias?"

The smile on Tobias's face grew. "I do believe dear Ms. Granger answered your question in part, Minerva. How far we send ourselves back is the first decision that must be made, as well as a general idea of what we do upon arrival in the past. For the sake of contingency, and general fairness, I do believe that all of us should be going back, not just one, or a pair of us. We have all earned the right, it would seem, to see things through again. And since we would all of us be going back, the question of how far back arises again.

"With all of us going, we are by necessity limited to the lifetimes of Harry and yourself, Hermione. Sending all four of us back to a period prior to either of your births is possible, but I think drifting in limbo before conception, and then going through the tedium of nine months in the womb, followed by the trauma of birth, is a bit much to ask."

"One would think so," drawled Harry, his voice dripping with sardonic humor, bringing a light laugh to them all.

"As I was saying, your births provide a limit to the far end of the sending, and I would say that the fall of Hogwarts would be the near end, leaving us a span of roughly twenty-two years, give or take a few months, to decide upon.

"And here is where the decision becomes difficult. We would all prefer, I hope to be sent back far enough to prevent the school's loss altogether, so that moves us back about another six years. Albus's death, despite everything else, is the point at which everything started to _visibly_ fall apart. While at this point, we all recognize the depth of certain of his manipulations, he was a powerful fighter, and a deeply influential individual whose loss came at a critical juncture. Albus Dumbledore may have been a Machiavellian bastard at times, but he was_at heart_, doing what he thought was best for all involved."

Concentration was evident on everyone's face, but it was Hermione who spoke next. "So narrow the span to sixteen years…" realization dawned on her face as she continued "…but that's not the difficult, part, is it?"

"True, Hermione. Quite true. The difficult part comes at the other end of the span. The question therein becomes, do we go far enough to attempt to save the lives of Lily and James Potter?"

Here all eyes were on Harry, and his on Tobias. "I am guessing, that you have a reason for not just assuming we go that far back?"

"Sadly, I do believe that I do, Harry. The War continued after you slew Voldemort. In the long run of things, Tom Marvolo Riddle was merely the catalyst that triggered events already in motion. It was he—after his return—and after Albus's death, that drew the attention of the Dark Adepts across Europe. Without Maeve's helping hand, the fall of Hogwarts would not have happened at all for _at least_ another year. And others… After Albus Dumbledore died, everyone seemed to come out of the woodwork: Damian Destrian, and all of cronies; Faye...

"The events that followed the Halloween when your parents were killed, and Riddle defeated kept them from coming out that much sooner. I don't want to sound cold, but sending ourselves back far enough to prevent that would add an entire order of complexity to the matter altogether. A child of barely a year old, even with the massive amount of knowledge and control you have, would not likely be able to consciously defeat Voldemort, and it is too likely that you being aware of events would make your own survival at the time less likely.

"But…"

Hermione's interruption was interrupted, by, of all people, Harry himself. "Let him finish 'Mione. He's right. He and Minerva could come charging into Godric's Hollow, and change events, but even then, it was the actions of everyone involved that night, that let me survive. We know that now, with more assurance than Dumbledore ever did. It may not have been just my mother's sacrifice that saved me, but it was her sacrifice that allowed everything else to work, and it was that sacrifice that finished the job."

"And for that, I am sorry, Harry," Tobias said gravely, "I truly am. I would assume then, that you wish to move us ahead of that particular event then?"

The reply he received was heart wrenching in its honesty, "I never knew my parents, and I mourn that fact to this day. But they knew what they were doing going joining the Order, and opposing Riddle. They gave up their lives so that I could have a chance to grow up, not knowing that doing that is what beat their killer. Going back to before that night would risk Riddle surviving too. And that we cannot afford. Too many lives would be lost while we waited for me to grow up and be physically as able as I would be mentally already. My parents wouldn't want that."

Minerva was the next, "That is true Harry, but we could find a way to save your parents and still allow for his defeat. You could grow up among those you love, and that love you."

"I could, but as I said, too much of that defeat rested on my mother's sacrifice. That action sealed the other spells that she and my father had cast and woven during her pregnancy and afterwards. There would be too much risk that Riddle would survive that night, and his defeat that Halloween saved countless lives."

"Wisely spoken Harry. Wisely spoken indeed. Taking everything up to and including that Halloween night out, we are left with a span of roughly fifteen years. If we take into account your godfather's death at the other end of the span, then we move down to about fourteen years. The question I think becomes, arrive before your Hogwarts career, of during it?"

"Before I think," Hermione said. "It gives us a chance to prepare ourselves mentally for what we would be facing. As many years of advance knowledge as we have, and with our memories, we might want to prepare for who and what we will be seeing at Hogwarts itself."

"True, Ms. Granger, very true. I highly doubt that dear Mr. Potter here throwing out curses on sight to certain of his fellow students would inspire anything resembling trust. All three of you would need time to prepare yourselves, and to prevent certain reactions that will be almost automatic for you. Going back to your fourth year, for instance, would be problematic, because I don't think you should have to worry about keeping yourselves from hexing Barty Crouch Junior from dawn till dusk.

"So, our span is lessened, to the time between the night of Voldemort's defeat, and your arrival at Hogwarts School. And considering that of the four of us, Harry here was in the circumstances most detrimental, I would suggest the choice be his. Harry?

"Well, I don't think we should go back too far. I don't think I want to have to go back and experience diapers and learning to walk, and the rest of the more… tiresome aspects of early childhood. So I would say when Hermione and I were at least about five years old. But I don't want to stay at the Dursley's too long once I know all that I know now."

"And we would need some reason for your removal from their residence. Something that would justify taking you away from their for your own good. Otherwise, we would face too much opposition from both Albus and others." McGonagall's words were spoken with some degree of caution, for they all knew that Dumbledore's insistence was what had kept Harry at the Dursley's.

"So you would need an excuse to 'rescue' me from them. Hmmm…" Harry's brow furrowed in concentration, and the look of distaste as he sorted through his memories of his time with his so-called relatives was quite plain on his face.

"Ahh. I think I may know when would be good. I was eight years old. Grunnings was having a bad year or something, so Vernon was generally in a bad mood, not that that's saying much. It was about November, I think, and he was always coming home angrier than before. I spent most of the time hiding from him, trying to avoid notice. One day, Dudley was caught beating me up at school, and the teacher that caught him hadn't heard much about either of us, so all she saw was one student beating up another.

"She took me to the nurse, and Dudley went to the counselor's office while I was checked out. The counselor, instead of calling Petunia, called Vernon during the middle of a particularly bad day at work. He came driving down, and pulled both of us out that day. Not much said in the car, but you could practically hear him getting madder and madder. It was the first time he actually did more than just slap me. After we got back to Privet Drive, he ended up giving me a black eye and breaking my arm, before locking me in the cupboard. It was two days before I actually got taken to a doctor, who didn't really buy the story that I had fallen down the stairs. But that was that, and I was kept me out of school for a few weeks too."

He finished and looked around, noticing that the air in the room had grown heavy with power. Hermione's hair was starting to move as if in a wind, and her face had gone calm and cold, but her eyes screamed her anger. McGonagall and Tobias were both of them standing now, clothes and hair moving like Hermione's, in an invisible wind of their own power, as their eyes blazed with fury.

"Calm down you three. The past is the past. It's over and done with, and all involved save me are long dead."

"The doctor's visit then." Tobias's voice whispered through the room, quiet and deadly and beautiful all at once, like silk wrapped around a steel blade.

All eyes turned to him as he continued, "The doctor's suspicion provides a clear reason for outside interference. If we go back to a few days after then, Minerva and myself can 'encourage' the doctor to make certain claims, but keep them quiet. The aforementioned claims could 'make their way' to the ears of the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, who would take it upon herself to investigate—while you, she, and I all of us fight the urge to curse and hex your 'relatives' to the nether regions of Hell itself."

The quiet rage on Minerva McGonagall's face was evident as she continued the narrative: "And I, as Deputy Headmistress, would 'investigate' the possibility that young Mr. Potter was being abused, and upon discovering the truth of the matter, remove him from his situation posthaste. After which, I would discreetly contact certain trustworthy individuals in the Ministry, and you yourself Tobias, to lend aid. Tobias would be more than capable of providing protection to a young child, which should allay Albus's fears for safety and protection to rest."

"And make it a joint guardianship. Not just Tobias, but you as well Minerva. Dumbledore wouldn't risk leaving an eight year old with a Master of the Deeping Arts. He trusted Tobias, but he knows—knew, whatever, I hate circular time references—the influence of a Deeping Master's presence can have on people, and moreover, he will know that the public would likely not appreciate the idea of the Boy Who Lived in the care of such as you, Tobias. Too many of the general public think too poorly of the Deeping Arts to be comfortable with such things. Too many see or hear the words 'Deeping Arts' and on some level immediately translate that to 'Dark Arts' to allow the general public to know. Better to have me under the apparent care of a capable and well-known Mistress of Transfiguration."

"Perfect, Harry, just perfect."

The planning, and the plotting continued throughout the night. Much would need to be decided on before they embarked on this task. Too many things had to be prepared for, and planned for, to not at least attempt to take every potential variable into account.

Together the four of them laboriously worked out a rough outline of what would occur once they transferred themselves into their own past selves. Once Harry was able to narrow down a proper date, things were sharpened. They would send themselves back to a time at night. The problems that would arise should of one of them be noticed to suddenly change persona in the middle of a sentence during the day were too many to count, so they would go back to their sleeping selves, and work from there.

Tobias would go to the doctor that had treated Harry that night, and would, using the most subtle of Legilimency and other magics, encourage the man to speak of his worries about the young boy who had been brought to his practice, seemingly several days after his injuries had occurred. He would arrange for that concern to be passed on to one or two individuals among the Aurors, known to Minerva. They would almost certainly realize the importance of the case, and would discreetly bring word to Minerva herself, again, encouraged subtly by the Deeping Master. Minerva would then go and investigate the situation at Privet Drive personally, and upon "discovering" the abuse of young Harry, would immediately remove him from the situation, and bring him to Tobias, who would "take care of him" until Minerva's and Tobias's guardianship could be worked out behind the scenes.

They all agreed that anything else would have to be planned once they had actually gone back, so that individual reactions could be taken into account. It wouldn't do to plan one thing, and have Dumbledore, or Fudge take some small action that would lead to a need to reconsider actions.

Once that much had been worked out, three of the four departed for their rooms in the tower, leaving Tobias to stare out his window, and hope that it would all work out.

The next day, Minerva woke early, as was her habit, and dressed quickly. As she left her room, she heard the sounds of doors closing elsewhere, and saw Harry and Hermione walking up the stairs, towards Tobias's chambers.

"Good morning," she said to the two, with a hint of humor in her voice. Oh, how the years had gone by. She still remembered clear as crystal the two of them walking through the Great Hall for the first time, remembered the lengthy stay of the Sorting Hat on each of their heads. She still remembered the trials faced by these two powerful individuals, remembered her pride in them as they grew alongside their classmates, as they worked their way through the years. Oh, what scions of Gryffindor these two had been!

"Good morning, Minerva," came the cheerful reply from both of them. All three of them let loose a small laugh, remembering that even little silly things can be what keeps you sane in the darkest of times. If you can laugh at it, chances stand that you can live with it.

The three together opened the door to Tobias's chamber, to find him sitting at the window, gazing out still at the raging storm that seemed to cover the world beyond the reaches of the valley, with loss and mourning evident on his young-but-old face. Of all of them, the ever-present storms across Europe and most of Asia cost him the most. He, the Storm's Rider, denied the cleansing and passionate touch of that Aspect that called to him most. No, he, and they all were faced with this wretched storm, the clouds overhead heavy with hate and pain and fear and loss. A Black Storm, a Hellstorm.

He turned as the door opened, closing the book in his lap. "Good morning, all. Today, it begins. The new hope of what was is born, as is our last hope for a brighter future."

With those words, he rose from his chair, and they followed him down the tower stairs. At the tower's entrance, all four gathered their power, to shield them after their departure.

Stepping outside, the air was eerily calm, and the skies above clear. Only this valley, and a few other scattered refuges across Europe and Asia were safe from the full power of the Black Storm. And it was here, and only here, that it never touched. The valley had too long abided the Deeping Powers for a mere Storm of Hell to infringe upon its boundaries.

The four were quiet as they walked to the valley's edge, and only the sounds of their soft footfalls could be heard in the stillness. Just as each stepped across the boundary separating the valley from the rest of the world, a bolt of cruel, red lightning would streak down, only to meet their shields mid-strike. They may not have cared for the storm, but all of them were most certainly knowledgeable of its power.

Here, the world was so different from where it was but a scant few yards away. The ground seemed burned, as if a great fire had swept the landscape recently, though in truth none had. The Storm overhead itself had lashed these grounds too often for life to be sustained here. It was as if the Storm thought, and somehow resented this sanctuary, and worked with all its power to make the area around it completely unlivable.

With a whisper of power, and sighs of relief, the four disappeared.

Only to reappear in the ruins of London. They walked down streets and up alleys, in quiet testimony to the madness that had descended long ago upon this once-beautiful place. A nest of basilisks in the Underground, and a giant web-nest of acromantulas in and around Hyde Park. These horrors and more walked and slithered through the city, preying upon the few humans left. Hidden eyes and concealed creatures observed their passage, but nothing left in London barred their passage. Somehow, everything there knew, by instinct alone, that these four were not prey to be hunted.

As they reached the base of what had once been Big Ben, now a shattered ruin of charred stone and brick, the four looked each other in the eyes, and nodded. Another whisper of power, and they were gone again.

The sun rose over Stonehenge, bathing the clouds above their heads in crimson light. Over a day of preparation, and the four of them were almost ready. Runes, carefully drawn in chalk upon the great stones of the site, and traced into the ground by knife, wand, staff and hand, spread outward from the center of the ancient monument in circles and spirals. Here and there amidst the great Pattern were various items: crystals lay atop or between runes, and carved rods of wood were placed upright in the ground.

It began.

A chant rose from the four, each in their own place in the Pattern of the spell. Four voices carried clear across the landscape, resonating with power. Around them, winds began to swirl, and the Pattern itself began to glow. On and on the chant continued, becoming almost frenzied in tempo. Their arms rose, as if to embrace the sky, and each Spoke a Word to complete their portion of the spell.

With a thunderous crash of light and shadow, the four vanished.


End file.
